Til Thanksgiving
by Hyla versicolor
Summary: The X-Institute accepts a reluctant new student
1. Til Thanksgiving

Title: 'Til Thanksgiving

Setting: Earth 616 – mostly X-mansion Westchester, New York

Genre: Revisionist Satire  
Time-Frame: X-infernus #1 _Soul Survivors _ pub. Dec 2008  
Rating: K+  
Summary: The X-Institute accepts a reluctant new student

Notes: This fic reads a bit like a train wreck – but I like it anyway

Inspired by: Rowena's 2008 Holiday Challenge on the Nightscrawlers fan site

* * *

'Til Thanksgiving

Five hours into the drive it occurred to Shane Edwards that a return trip, say just to drop in for visit, wouldn't be easy. That's about when the panic set in. He glanced first at his father's squared shoulders, hands at ten and two on the wheel, and then over at his mother watching the landscape go by, features composed as always. He nervously licked his lips.

"Dad?" he ventured after a moment or so, voice wobbling a bit. "Dad, how long before I see you and mom again?

His father peered back at him through the rearview mirror, one eyebrow just clearing the rim of his spectacles. "Now son," he said, "The whole point of boarding school is to be on your own for a bit. You don't want Mother and me around all the time, we'd cramp your style. We'll see you over break, at Thanksgiving."

Shane wasn't sure he had any style to be cramped, whatever that meant, but he didn't think he should say so. The trouble was he was homesick already and they hadn't even crossed the New York border yet. There was no way he'd last until Thanksgiving. It was a whole month away!

Sitting back in his seat with a disbelieving groan, he was suddenly aware of something tugging on his sleeve. He looked over at his baby sister, Lucy, who used her free hand to take the lollipop she was sucking on out of her mouth. It glistened moistly with her spit.

"Lolly?" she asked, offering it to him.

"No. Ew." He said shortly and leaned back in his seat again, this time with his arms crossed in front of him.

"Don't worry bub, the time will go by before you know it."

This time Shane glanced to his other side, at a barrel-chested man with an unlit cigar hanging out of his mouth. The man winked at him before addressing his father.

"Hey Pops, any chance we can make a pit stop? I gotta piss somethin' fierce."

Mr. Edward's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He clenched his jaw and didn't say a thing.

"We most certainly will not!" Mrs. Edwards, who was an English teacher, exclaimed turning around in her seat. "You should have thought of that before we left the restaurant, you dirty, little man. And," she added noticing the cigar, "take that nasty thing out of your mouth this instant!"

The man, who was as short as a barrel too, sat back mumbling under his breath and removed the cigar from between his teeth, tucking it into a front pocket of his plaid red shirt.

"Hey kid," he said turning back in Shane's direction, but speaking over his head. "That sucker still available?"

Lucy nodded and made a popping sound as she pulled the candy out of her mouth. Shane made a face as the exchange was made in front of him.

Only two more hours to go.


	2. 28 Days Til Thanksgiving

_28 days until Thanksgiving_

Shane, feeling alone and frightened, as well as hungry and a little constipated, stood in a second floor hallway of the Xavier Institute, facing down a large, imposing oak door with ornate silver lettering that proclaimed : _Emma Frost, Headmistress_. The words glittered, menacingly.

'_C'mon all you have to do is knock_,' Shane told himself as he raised a trembling fist. After a moments hesitation he managed a soft rap. The knock produced no answer. Neither did a second, slightly louder attempt.

Uncertainly, the boy pushed his heavily framed glasses more firmly up the bridge of his nose, and thought what to do next.

His thoughts were interrupted as a plume of acrid smoke assaulted his nostrils. Shane turned to see the small man in plaid had found his cigar and was puffing away. As he passed by, the man met his eyes, shifted the short shaft in his mouth, and spoke around it.

"Just go on in, kid."

Then he turned the corner, and was gone.

Shane sighed and gathered up his courage enough to turn the diamond shaped knob and walk into the office. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the candlelit dimness of the room. But, once they had and he was able to glance around, he saw that the room was entirely unoccupied.

Wondering how long the headmistress would be, Shane wandered around the silent room, taking in the expensive looking décor. With each step his shoes sank into plush carpet and a complex, all permeating musky perfume started to give him a headache. After a few minutes he was attracted to a cabinet that held the majority of the candles.

The doors of the cabinet were spread wide displaying inner shelves where trophies and awards were arranged as well as photographs and other memorabilia. Most centrally situated and illuminated by three of the brightest candles were three silver frames each studded with sparkling diamonds. Curiously, Shane peered at the portraits within the frames. Each showed a group of young people, kids really, some smiling, some looking serious, almost all impossibly gorgeous. _My Hellions_, each portrait was labeled, and a shiver ran up Shane's spine as the read the words, "In Memoriam" over and over again.

'_Just what kind of place is this?!_' Shane thought, backing away from the cabinet. But, those thoughts were quickly interrupted by the uncanny realization that he was no longer alone in the room. He was being watched, and the watcher was not pleased. Frantically, he glanced around the room but, hard as he looked, he could find no presence save his own.

"_What are _you_ doing here?_" The voice came out of nowhere, but Shane couldn't help another frantic whirl to try and detect the source from amongst the shadows before realizing, with horror, that the words were echoing around inside his own head.

"I-I," Shane stammered, not sure how to answer something that was talking from inside of him. Was this what it felt like to go crazy?

"_This is my _private_ office_," the voice continued, "_And you do not have my permission to be in here_."

'_AAAGGH!_' Shane thought as instinct took over and he bolted for the door. But, before he could reach it, the office door was thrown open on well-oiled hinges; and Shane found himself staring at a tall, frowning blonde woman wearing hardly any clothes.

"_Well? I require an explanation_," the voice continued.

Shane wondered if the woman's mouth was moving in time with the words, and he wanted to check, he really did, it was just so difficult to pull his eyes away from her low-cut neckline. Or, he considered, was it a bust-line? It couldn't really be called a neckline when it was so far below her neck, could it?

"Are you always so uncouth? My eyes are up here." The woman said, and this time Shane knew the words had been said aloud as she advanced on him.

Knees trembling, and still trying desperately to raise his eyes up to her face, Shane found himself backing away, retracing his previous steps, until he ended up against the cabinet with a short bump. Behind him some of the objects tipped.

Feeling truly cornered, Shane flattened himself against the shelves – cringing at the possibility of what the lady would do to him if anything had been damaged. Fearing that even if nothing had, she'd do something horrible to him anyway.

The woman approached until she was standing unnervingly close to him, reached out over his shoulder and straightened the photographs before saying, "Such a waste of young lives."

"H-how did they die?" Shane ventured to ask as in profile, she suddenly looked so sad.

"Various ways," the woman said, looking at him sharply and making him cringe. She ambled over to her desk, gesturing as she listed them, "Giant robots, bombings, school riots, crucifixion, more giant robots. I've suffered so much."

At that she took a decanter from her desk and poured a lot of some kind of liquid into a finely cut goblet.

"Really, its just a matter of time before the rest of them go. Between the Scarlet Witch's decimating the mutant population, and the incident with the buses, as well as the almost daily attempts on our student lives it's a miracle any of them are still standing." The woman looked over at him. "You, I am sure, won't last very long at all." She sat back in her chair – feet propped up on the desk.

"Should you really be saying all of this to me?"

"I find it wonderful therapy, actually. It's all perfectly fine, of course, I'll merely erase these last few minutes from your mind – you'll have no recollection of this conversation at all."

As Shane backed up to flee – she raised her hand, "So, Mr. Edwards, What are your thoughts?"

"Sounds great," Shane said, smiling. "I'm really looking forward to starting over here – bright future and all that."

"I'm glad to hear it," the headmistress said – looking composed and highly professional. "You'll have to meet with my lover, Scott Summers, of course. He deals with the more mundane matters such as class schedules and room assignments."

"I believe you'll find him…." She raised a white gloved hand to her temple, "In the armory – poor thing. Here, directions now." She fluttered her fingers and Shane knew exactly where to go.

Shane left feeling great about his future. At least for the moment.


	3. 27 and a Half Days

27 1/2 Days Until Thanksgiving

A little later, Shane found his way to the lunchroom. By now he was starving, and feeling a lot better since he'd had a chance to visit the can.

The guy with the glasses had been creepy, but helpful. And he'd gotten a printout of his schedule and his room assignment.

Shane sniffed the aroma of foodstuffs appreciatively and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He balked a bit, however, when he saw the two figures at the buffet, one familiar and one not, who were busily using their claws to stab up meat ***Snickt*** and retracting them to deposit the steaming flesh on their plates. Shane decided he just wanted a salad, which he helped himself to on the opposite side of the room, and then settled himself at an empty table as far away from the carnivorous duo as he could get – which happened to be near the entryway.

But, before he'd even taken his first bite, a group of students trooped in, and after filling their plates descended, to his chagrin, on his table.

'_Oh no!'_ he thought,_ 'Bullies!' _

Sure enough, he was soon informed by a very large student, made entirely of what appeared to be rocks, that he was sitting at the Hellions' table.

_Hellions_?… why did that sound so familiar?

"Heh," the rock-boy continued, "Don't pretend like you don't know who we are. We're fighters and survivors and nobody better mess with us, or they pay. Big time."

Shane twitched under the large boy's glare and jumped as he slammed one rock hard fist into the other. His reaction seemed to please the other boy and he resumed his mocking speech. "So what are you? Some kinda spy? You look like one, especially your beady little eyes. All spies have beady little eyes."

"Who me?" Shane said, panicked. "No way, I'm one of you."

"You're not one of us," a pale green-skinned boy said quietly. "It takes a lot to be a Hellion – you have to pass all kinds of trials and suffer. Sufferings a big part of it." The last part was said a little distractedly as the boy passed an oversized armored arm over the scales that covered the top of his head.

"There might not be a lot of us left, but that doesn't mean we'd let just anyone join." The rock-boy continued, all talk of spies seemingly forgotten. "Has anyone ever tried to kill you?"

"N-no." Shane had to admit. He knew the world was a dangerous place for those who had the X-gene – but he'd never been personally attacked.

"Santos…" a red-haired silver girl said. "It's only his first day."

"Do you think that means they'll go easy on him? Oh, oh – it's your first day? Then we'll just go away and not bother you. Like that's going to happen. The kid needs to be prepared! He needs to know what to expect."

"Murders," someone said.

"Bombings."

"Trips to demon infested dimensions."

Well, of course they were only making things up to scare him.

"They took a part of my soul," a tiny girl with pink and black hair said sadly.

"Your soul?" Shane questioned, startled.

"Yes, I feel so empty sometimes. A soul is very important. I have a dagger now though, want to see it?"

"He doesn't want to see it," a good looking dark-haired boy broke in. "So what do you do?"

'_Do?_' Shane was momentarily unsure how to answer. "Oh, I'm a student."

"No, I mean, like, powers?"

"Powers?" Shane felt a little confused as he hadn't heard that term used in connection with himself before. "I'm a mutant not a wizard."

The silver girl laughed. "It would be nice if we were all wizards – at least all the different powers would be spread around more equally."

"Mercury's a Harry Potter nut. She'll tell you all her fascinating theories later. So what are your powers?"

"Don't be rude, Julian. I'm Cessily by the way."

"It's a standard question!" the boy, Julian, mumbled.

"I move stuff. My name's Shane. You like Harry Potter?"

"Don't you?!"

"Of course! Which book is your favorite?"

"Well, I've read them all about 20 times…"

"At least! You move stuff? Like telekinesis?"

Julian was persistent.

"I make stuff disappear and reappear somewhere else."

"Then you are a magician, in the classic sense."

"Maybe," Shane smiled at Cessily. She was awfully pretty, and so nice.

"So, like teleportation then?" Julian questioned, seeming far less interested now.

"I guess," Shane responded, doubtfully.

"So, does Megan."

At that, the pink and black haired girl flapped what was left of her wings and jumped up, exclaiming, "From here to infinity!" She reached into her chest and drew out her shining blade.


	4. 23 Days

23 Days Until Thanksgiving

"Please, Mr. Wagner, don't leave me alone with her, she's batshit!"

Megan looked hurt

"Relax Shane, Megan and I are just going to teleport to the bridge and back. We will both be leaving at exactly the same moment and we will have returned before you know it. You need only worry about your own performance.

"Ready, Liebling?"

The little freckle-faced girl with the black eyes nodded and began reciting some weird sounding words in a voice that became all echo-y and seemed to suck the light from the room.

Mr. Wagner waited patiently until she'd had time to complete her spell and then the instant she shimmered out of sight, just as he'd promised, he disappeared in a puff of purple smoke and a slight clap of impacting air.

"Yo Scrambler! That girl is batshit alright, and she's gonna kick your ass!"

Shane raised his eyes to the observation window where Santos stood leaning one rocky forearm against the glass and smirking down at him. As if he didn't feel awkward enough squeezed into the standard blue and yellow trainee uniform that was so obviously made to accentuate a physique that was less rotund and well, lumpy, than his own. At least Cessily, also standing in the window, was more encouraging.

"Don't worry Shane," she said, silver skin glimmering as it caught the light, "You'll do fine!"

Just then, in a brilliant flash of pink light, Megan returned, alone.

Shane spun wildly around, looking for the instructor, but he was nowhere to be seen. A bit dizzy from all the spinning, he followed his first instinct and beat a retreat, scrambling in what he thought was the direction of the door.

His flight was arrested though by a familiar muffled implosion and he turned to see an astonished looking Nightcrawler surrounded by his signature purple smoke.

"Uhglahblach!" the X-man exclaimed, "How ever did you manage to arrive before me? I teleported before you could even begin casting your spell!"

"You cheated!"

"And as you can see, my dear, cheaters neither prosper nor do they win. Though I must admit, there is some basis in the sentiment that I do not wish to be outdone by one so young and enjoying such an early juncture in her training. But, to be truthful, Pixie, I was merely testing you."

"Oh. So, does this mean I passed?"

"With flying colors. Literally." Mr. Wagner added with a glance at the girl's multicolored, tattered wings. "Frankly, I cannot imagine what else I can possibly teach you. I am even inclined to say you've graduated, though I doubt I have the power to confer that honor onto you."

Pixie smiled smugly.

"Well then," Nightcrawler said, with a sudden show of exuberance. "Where's my next student? Oh, there you are, Shane. So, I understand you teleport objects. I am prepared to be dazzled! Any limitations I should know about?"

Shane hauled himself back to the center of the room. He swallowed nervously, hating to be in the spotlight. "I don't do live things"

"I did not start by teleporting anything living either," his instructor said, fumbling at his wrist with two-fingered hands. "How about, if we start with my watch?"

"Um, do you like that watch, sir?"

Mr Wagner shrugged, "I am not too attached, though some might say I am overly dependent on it – just please do not drop it in the Hudson. It is not as though I have an infinite supply of these devices."

Shane reached out to take the watch, noting how inexplicably relaxed Mr. Wagner looked as he did so. The horrific idea that his teacher might trust him to work standing just as they were made shivers creep up the boy's spine. Shane could feel beads of sweat popping out on his forehead as his fingers closed around the gadget.

Mr. Wagner gave him a heartening look and released the weight of the watch into his student's hand. As Shane bore it away, moving as far across the room as he thought he could get away with, he looked down at its doomed face, thinking he would be the last to ever do so.

Uneasily, Shane placed the sacrificed possession on the floor, left it, and then went back to place it a pace farther away. Removed to a safe distance, Shane took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder to where Mr. Wagner was looking politely expectant and Pixie was reaching over her own shoulder, trying in vain to scratch a region of her back which she couldn't quite reach. He avoided looking at the observation window. '_All right, Shane,_' he thought, "You can do this!"

Accidentally, he said that last part out loud, which made him cringe because as much as he was trying to forget, he couldn't help but be aware he had an audience.

Thus prompted, his teacher supplied an obliging cheer of, "We have faith in you, Shane!"

"That's so lame," Megan exclaimed, pausing in her quest to relieve her hard-to-reach itch.

Shane wasn't sure, but he thought Nightcrawler rolled his hard to see eyes. "Just try your best, Shane," his instructor amended as he reached over to rub the spot on Pixie's back she'd been trying to get at.

'_C'mon Shane – Concentrate!_' Shane told himself, this time secretly pleased he'd kept his internal monologue to himself. And he was trying his hardest, he really was. He focused on the object, every part of it. And envisioned moving it a foot to the right. He ended up transporting it about three inches to the left and half a step closer. Rather as expected, he had to admit, his attempt was a spectacular failure. Shane almost couldn't bear to look at the watch's remains.

"Uhglahblach! I am glad I did not have you start by transporting Pixie here."

"That would be me with my guts all inside out!"

"I meant that as a joke, Megan, I would not really have let that happen to you."

"Already worser things have happened, to me and Josh and Victor and Santos and the other kids too! She took a piece of my soul!" Pixie's voice was rising.

"Calm down, Megan, please."

"And she was going to take all of my soul too, but Anole stopped her and Rockslide too, and she was trying to make a sword out of it but she only made a dagger – and it lives inside me and I keep having to stab people with it!"

Shane felt rooted to the floor, watching as the blue man moved between him and his fellow student who, at the end of her rant, actually drew the shining weapon from her chest (again) her face taking on a dark, evil look.

It was a look that Shane had seen on her before, that morning during Chemistry Lab, and the other day at lunch. That had been bad. Very bad. He wished he could move.

Mr. Wagner was calmly trying to pacify the mad little Pixie, when, with no warning, she swung the dagger about and stabbed him, in the chest!

Screams rang out, but whether they were his or his teacher's, Shane couldn't be sure. He thought he was going to faint, or do something worse. As it turned out, it was worse.

'_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod._'

Eventually, the screaming stopped and Shane stood panting, trying to wrap his mind around this unreal situation. His instructor had reeled back a pace or two and was vainly pulling at the hilt of the dagger, the blade of which was buried so deeply in his chest that it couldn't be seen.

Shane glanced up at the observation window. The guys who had been standing there weren't there anymore.

Then, suddenly, there they were, at the Danger Room door. Mercury and Rockslide rushed in without hesitation to stand between their wayward peer and struggling teacher.

Poised to act, they didn't dial down their alert level until they were certain that Pixie wasn't making any further moves. In fact, Pixie was now standing motionless, her countenance markedly dazed. Rockslide waved his hand in front of her eyes, but they didn't resume their focus.

An instant later, both young heroes jumped when the girl reached out, slowly, as though in a dream, towards her teacher. Watchfully, the three mutants allowed her to proceed – Nightcrawler bravely holding his ground as Rockslide and Mercury reached out to follow her movement, ready to intercede in a heartbeat if so needed. Pixie's hand slowly closed around the dagger's handle, "They're coming," she said absently as she returned the shining blade to her chest. Then she added, sounding more like herself. "I don't like talking about that…. How'd everyone get over there?"

Mr. Wagner, still trying to catch his breath, even now that the foreign body had been removed, suddenly reached into his own chest and pulled out an equally gleaming, but much longer, weapon. Shane wondered who he was going to stab, and hoped it wouldn't be him.

"Ooooh, pretty." Megan said.

"Are you hurt, Mr. Wagner?" Cessily asked, reaching out to support the man's arm. Shane wanted to warn her to stay away from the sword, but was only able to wave his hands vaguely – a gesture that was roundly ignored.

He cringed with anxiety when Nightcrawler turned to look at her. "The resonance when they struck each other was exceptionally painful," the X-man said, voice sounding strained. Then, recovering himself, he added more lucidly, "Ja, Cessily, I'm quite all right, why don't you and Santos get Megan to the infirmary?"

"What? I feel fine!" Megan protested as the two dragged her from the room.

Shane found himself alone with his sword brandishing teacher. Mr. Wagner held the long blade in one hand, casually, gripping it as comfortably as if he always walked around armed. With his other hand he felt around his chest, checking for any sign of damage. Finding none he smiled weakly, "Are you all right, Shane?"

"Ah, fine." There was warm liquid dripping into his socks and his pants felt funny, but other than that he was, yeah, fine.

He swallowed, "That sword didn't hurt you, Mr. Wagner?"

"Nein." Mr. Wagner paused to put the sword away in his chest. Without it's glow the room looked a whole lot less eerie. "That is actually not the first time something like that has happened to me. Just one of the many perks of being a costumed hero." He smiled and then sniffed the air.

"Ugh." Nightcrawler put an arm around Shane's shoulder. "Now, I think, it is time to clean up – there are fresh uniforms in the locker room – and a handy laundry chute. We could certainly both use a good shower. But, I had better bamf to the infirmary first. Run along now."

Shane ran.


	5. 20 Days

20 Days Until Thanksgiving

"What did you do to my book?!"

"I was just… It's a school book, can't you get another one?"

"Books don't grow on trees you know, especially that one – you have no idea how much trouble it took to get that. Cess's going to kill me."

"That was Cessily's book?"

"No." Shane's roommate scowled. "But she was going to read it after me. You're always doing things like that; get your powers under control already!"

The green-skinned boy flopped back down on the bed and turned up the volume on his ipod. Shane got the distinct impression that he'd been dismissed. He wrung his hands wondering if another heartfelt apology might make things better. Just as he was about to open his mouth, there came a knock at the door.

Victor looked up quizzically as Shane opened the dorm room door to reveal his teleportation mentor. After verifying that the X-man wasn't there for him, he rolled over and resumed listening to his music.

Nightcrawler turned to Shane. "Guten Tag, Shane. I apologize for bothering you during your down time, but I really wanted to have a few last words with you, student to teacher, before I left."

"You're leaving? Where are you going?"

"Europe. It's actually a mission / vacation of sorts - I need to track down my sister, well girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, ach, it's complicated. Anyway, I'll be in Europe and just wanted to say it was nice working with you and you should keep up the practice. Also, using your own stuff would be nice."

"Sorry."

"I do not believe that I am the one to whom you should apologize. Replace the book."

Shane glanced down at the literary ruins. "I can't read the title. It's all scrambled."

Mr. Wagner rolled his eyes – or at least Shane thought he did – it was so hard to tell when the man had no visible pupils.

"That reminds me – the cook wants to see you."

'_Oh no'_, Shane thought. "What for?"

"You're not in trouble. Yet. Al Veetazed!" As his teacher disappeared with a '_bamf_'' Shane waved the smell of burnt matches away with both hands and resigned himself to a trek to the kitchens.


	6. 19 and a Half Days

19 ½ Days Until Thanksgiving

"Congratulations, Shane! It looks like we've finally found a use for your powers!"

Shane sat in the kitchen with a large bowl of hard-boiled eggs in his lap, smiling.

He wasn't yet able to remove the egg from the shell. But, after manual deshelling, he'd discovered he was really good at pureeing the insides.

"Now," said cook, "Let's add them to the salad."

The final result could only be described as delicious - Shane couldn't have been happier!


	7. 19 and a Quarter Days

19 ¼ Days Until Thanksgiving

"Well, thank my stars and garters, I do believe I've isolated the problem!" Dr. McCoy exclaimed, adjusting the tiny eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his leonine nose.

"Food poisoning?" Bobby asked from where he was lying on one of the institute's hospital beds.

"In a manner of speaking, Bobby," Beast said, peering over the half frames, "That analysis would be accurate. However, our particular situation is a bit more complex than that."

"Isn't it always?"

"Sorry, sorry!" Shane found himself saying to everyone and no one. He'd eaten only a small portion of the lunch he'd helped prepare (he was dieting) and even that was enough to give him a case of belly cramps severe enough to land him in the basement medical center, along with the rest of the school.

Both veteran X-men looked his way and blinked. Despite a recent round of intensive questioning that had confirmed his guilty role, however unintentional, Shane doubted either had really noticed him.

"While we've isolated the egg salad as the dish that all afflicted had in common," Beast continued, turning back to his original conversation, "we've also established that none of the foodstuff's components were spoilt nor were there any foreign materials present that would account for the adverse reactions among the student body."

"So…, no bad eggs were involved?"

Beast sighed and swept his blue-black hair smooth with a dangerous looking paw. "I would say not," he said, choosing to ignore Bobby's grin.

"Well, what then?"

"I believe,,, enantiomers were involved."

"C'mon, Doc, speak English!. What's that mean?"

"Molecules, Bobby. Which are, as you may know, composed of atoms, the building blocks of life."

"Aw, Hank! Now you're making it too simple and I still don't get what you're talking about."

"You should have paid more attention to the basic chemistry course that was provided when we were students."

Bobby smirked, "Why bother, when I knew I'd always have you?"

Dr. Hank McCoy rolled his eyes but nevertheless seemed a bit less put out than before. "To put it as clearly as I know how, Bobby, the human body functions as a highly sensitive and differential machine. It requires certain elements to perform optimally, such as oxygen, H2O, and various nutrients-"

"Is this going to be a lecture, Hank?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

Dr. McCoy paused to pout for a moment, but then resumed speaking, now taking into account the wider audience of those directly concerned who were listening in. "Allow me to try again. The human body," he ignored Bobby's wince, "is capable of detecting very small differences in the substances it requires to work properly. In our case here, it appears that certain proteins in the eggs' albumen –er let's just say 'yolk,' even though that's not quite accurate, experienced a rearrangement of their molecular structure. Now, this happens naturally in any biochemical medium, but in this particular case…."

Not even his enthusiasm for his favorite subject could protect the good doctor from the silent stares of his patients. He paused awkwardly before finally giving in. "All right, when young Shane mashed up the eggs for the salad he also 'mashed' up a component that had the potential, when altered, to give you all a severe case of indigestion."

"Was that so hard, Beast?," someone called out.

"You have no idea." The man called Beast's answer was muffled as he had buried his face in his large paw-like hands.

"Well, even I know when you're mixing things up on an atomic level – that's power," Bobby said.

"But, the question is," Beast replied, recovering his poise, "Can he ever learn to use it."

It seemed as though everyone in the vicinity was looking at him. Shane flushed and Dr. McCoy appeared to take pity on him.

"Just choose foods that don't have the potential to produce toxic stereoisomers, Mr. Edwards, and everything will be fine."

'Huht?' Shane thought before his thoughts were interrupted.

"Golden boy coming through!" Along with everyone else, Shane's head snapped around to see a boy whose skin seemed to have actually been dipped in gold standing in the infirmary door.

The boy began to move around the room, touching a hand here a forehead there. All the while saying, "I heal thee, I heal thee."

"So, what, you didn't eat any of the salad, Josh?"

Josh put his hand to his stomach, "Heal thyself."

An English lady in a nearby hospital bed, newly restored, was the next to speak up, "Imagine that, I come back from the dead – only to be slain by my own lunch."

'Back from the dead?' Shane almost didn't notice his pain evaporate as Josh stopped by to lay on hands.

Raising his arms dramatically, Elixir announced, "My work here is done," turned, and strode from the room.

"Lucky guy," a pale boy with black hair sighed wistfully.

"Tell me about it."

Suddenly the mutant called Wolverine appeared at Shane's shoulder. "Congratulations kid, ya nearly wiped out the entire school. Ya know, I had three helpings myself. Nothing keeps the Wolverine down for long - I survived getting my head half-blown off – I can take your egg salad. Keep that in mind in case you decide to become a villain."

"Yes sir," Shane said, already feeling sick again despite having just been cured.


	8. 17 Days

17 Days Until Thanksgiving

Well, this was the address, the blonde young man with the priest's collar thought as he paused on the landing. He consulted a square of paper he held in his hand and turned left down a dimly lit but richly decorated corridor. It was certainly a ritzy looking place.

Arriving at a junction, he turned left again and found himself confronted by two intimidating men holding hands.

"Yessss? the first man said.

"What isssss it you want?" added the second. Unnecessarily his tongue made a quick appearance and just as quickly was withdrawn.

"Roger?" the priest asked doubtfully.

"No, he'sss Roger." The second man said, with a vague gesture of his free hand.

"Ssssilly you," the first said, "We both know you're only telling talessss."

"Look, it doesn't matter who's who, I'm looking for your mistress. Is Amanda in?" the man in the collar asked, looking at the door.

"It mattersss to usss." The second man said. "Transmoglifying can be very confussssing."

"Ssssinccce we no longer look like ourssselvesss, we can't really be sure which of usss isss which."

"I think I am Roger." The second man said, turning awkwardly to face the first. His movement was reminiscent of a penguin.

"Are you ssssure?" The first asked worriedly as he turned awkwardly as well.

They both moved like they were still struggling with the concept of legs, Kurt thought as he glided past them and rapped on the door.

A few minutes later the former snake sentinels were still arguing as a woman opened the door – toweling her strawberry blond hair. She took one glance at the priest and shut the door in his face with a mumbled, "We don't want any."

After a surprised hesitation, Kurt rapped again.

"You boys aren't doing your job!" Amanda snapped when she reopened the door. But Bert and Roger only ignored her.

"So what, is the Catholic Church making house calls now? No souls to be saved here." She tried to slam the door again, but this time Kurt was ready.

"More of a hotel room call, isn't it? And we both know yours is a soul desperately in need of saving."

"Kurt!" Amanda jumped at him, almost losing her robe.

"Oh, dear,' Kurt said helping her to reclose the dressing gown. "Mind your modesty, what would people think, and me a priest."

"Dirty old man – not that anyone here would care."

"Nevertheless, may I come in, away from prying eyes?"

"Oh, afraid not, fuzzy."

"_Was_? All this way and stopped on the doorstep?"

"I have company," the lovely if slightly disheveled woman indicated the suite behind her with a tilt of her head.

As if in answer a male voice called, "Jimaine! I am waiting!"

"In a minute Miguel! Sorry, Kurt, I'm busy. Can't this wait?"

The X-man blinked. But, he was long past having any right to question Ms. Sefton / Szardos's actions. "It's about the soulsword."

"What about it." Amanda glanced over her shoulder

"Well, I still have it."

"I'd hope so – losing something like that could be pretty bad."

"Haha – well, you do remember leaving it inside my soul?"

Amanda shrugged.

Kurt looked around, verifying no one was in sight save the ex-snake sentinels. He reached into his chest and pulled out the gleaming blade.

"It's been a while since I've seen that." Amanda said after a brief pause. But, she didn't move to take it.

"Well, it is supposed to be your destiny, is it not?"

"Nice try. It's really safer with you, you know."

"I – "

"Keep it secret, keep it safe. See ya."

"Amanda!?"

"Really really, you're the best one I know to hang onto it."

"Rumor is the demons of Limbo are amassing for another takeover – any help?"

"I'm done with Limbo. That's Magik's problem now. Can I go now?"

Nightcrawler sighed, "Of course, don't let me keep you."

He turned to leave, but was halted when his foster sister / ex spoke again.

"Oh, and Kurt? Lose the disguise – blonde doesn't suit you."

Amanda winked and slipped away inside.


End file.
